"What's your favorite thing in this bar?"
A gnarly looking dude with wild curly hair flashed his smile (with missing teeth) and grabbed a flashlight. "Well, we have a human skull", as he walked over to the corner and shined upon a little human skull tacked up to the wall. "I'm not sure if we're supposed to have it, but here it is."
It was a Sunday afternoon. We had spent the day hiking and ended up at Yukon. After we went to the Pit. And after Tony's. This was our third (fourth?) beer of the day, and seventh (eighth?) notorious bar.
I was made aware of the Guide to the Most Notorious Bars of Alaska the very first night I got in. It was around 1am and I was slipping in and out of sleeping upright in the chair in the kitchen. Joe told me of his ultimate goal of getting to all of them listed in the book. He was excited about taking me to as many as he could; there he would ask bartenders about the history, favorite drinks, find out who has drank at that bar, and other myriad of questions that always led to incredibly interesting information. Joe thought I wouldn't want to take part, but there's nothing more in this world I would rather do than visit some crazy divey bars in the most remote parts of Alaska. And there's certainly no one else I would rather do that with than him.
Bar Palmer, Palmer
Koot's, Anchorage
Yukon, Seward
Joe and I have known each other for almost 10 years, and I'm amazed we've stayed in touch this long. Some of my best friends and I have parted ways, ruined by miles of seperation and bad communication. Yet, for someone with no social media contact, we've always stayed in contact via postcards. He would occasionally send them to me in college, but now he sends them from Alaska, or Mongolia, or Tanzania, or wherever he may be roaming. (Fun fact: he's also responsible for my obsession with Mumford and Sons. One night, just as I moved to Chicago, he came rolling into town driving the Weinermobile and asked if I wanted to go for a ride. We cruised around in Rosemont at 1am in a giant hot dog when he asked if I wanted to hear a good song. He played Roll Away Your Stone, and it's been downhill since then)
There's always been something special about him and a lot of people can attest to that. I could learn to be the best writer in the entire universe and never be able to describe it. But in the words that I am able to use, he was the best tour guide of Alaska that there could ever be. Not a lot of people can ride around the state in a bright yellow retired taxi cab, getting under-the-radar facts about the history of Anchorage cross-referenced with bars and alcohol. As I grow older, my birthdays seem to be more sullen affairs, but not with him. Under the midnight sun I gained a year and we ended up at Crossroads (NB #10) where he gives me one last birthday present. He runs over to the jukebox and deposits a dollar; seconds later we hear the rueful tones of Father John Misty's I Love You Honeybear.
Until next time, AK and Joey B.